The Red Truck Affair
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
Summary: KonEl is the hybrid 'clone' of Superman, and his life has never been normal. Until the day he wakes up to find a brand new red truck sitting in the Kent's front drive. Now things are about to get really weird.
1. Chapter 1

**The Red Truck Affair:**

A Disturbing Smallville/DC Mish-Mash (1/?)

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

CHAPTER ONE: In Which Kon's Day Takes A Decidedly Odd Turn

It started with a truck.

Later, Kon-El would discover that this statement was actually applicable in more ways than one, at the moment, he remained blissfully unaware that the morning's surprise eerily echoed a day some twenty-odd years earlier. His world made sense-- it was filled with crime-fighting superheroes, mutants, aliens, clones, and the occasional dinosaur, but it operated on parameters he could generally accept as understandable, if not logical. The truck changed all that.

It was a red truck-- a bright, beautiful red in the early Kansas morning, chrome shinning in spotless invitation to crows for miles around. Kon-El, having just clattered sleepily down the steps of the Kent's front porch for his morning chores, stopped cold and stared. A beautiful truck, at that. Top of the line, with custom hubcaps and a brilliant silver-black stripe along it's side. The bed was wide, coated in a professional-grade seal. The seats were leather, which coaxed a surprised bark of laughter from Kon's mouth. With just a dozen scrambled eggs and a ream of bacon in his system, he was only half awake, but he usually did chores to give Aunt Martha time to work up Breakfast Round #2. Almost mesmerized, Kon circled the truck, noting how innocently it sat in the Kent's dusty drive way, as if it were in no way out of place. There was a big silver bow perched atop the hood.

He wasn't entirely sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Conner?" Uncle Jonathan's voice carried through the screen door, accompanied by the heavy tread of his boots. "Conner, don't forget that the tractor is--" The door opened, then slammed heavily shut, but Kon couldn't bring himself to turn around. Instead, he waited until he saw Uncle Jon's shadow before him, still staring in wonder at the truck.

"Dudes, what's with the truck?" he asked. It was the choked noise Uncle Jon made that finally tore Kon's gaze away, and he quickly found himself riveted by a new surprise. Jonathan Kent's face was turning an alarming shade of red.

"Mister K--" Kon smacked his head. "Uncle Jon?" he stressed. He got no response from the older man, save a few inarticulate clickings of the throat. He tapped the farmer's shoulder, becoming concerned in a way that had nothing to do with Evil Supervillians, and everything to do with Adults Being Weird. "Hey, are you alright?"

Uncle Jon took in a deep breath, as if preparing for a long winded but ultimately comforting explanation. Instead, he bellowed, "MARTHA!"

Martha Kent, graying auburn hair pulled back in a loose braid, opened the screen door with one hand, a pitcher of milk in the other.

"Honestly, Jonathan--" she began. Kon turned around just in time to watch her catch her first glimpse of the truck. She blinked several times, as if she'd woken from a dream and wasn't certain if it was morning or evening, before her hand flew to her mouth. At the same time, the screen door began to shut and her other hand, clearly shaking, lost its grip on the pitcher. The door banged into her foot as milk cascaded around her ankles, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Aunt Martha?" Kon asked, speeding right past 'concerned' and deep into 'alarmed'. His eyes widened comically as his normally fastidious aunt simply stepped over the pitcher's remains and came down into the dooryard, leaving solitary milky footprints behind her. Her eyes-- a comforting blue shade Kon often pretended he'd inherited from her-- flickered between her husband and the truck, then between the truck and her erstwhile 'nephew'. Kon eyed both adults warily, struggling to keep his body on the ground. "Um?" he waved his hand, "could we stop with the staring and the weirdness and make with the explanations and the annoying Kansas 'normalness'?"

Neither his aunt nor his uncle seemed to have heard him.

"There's a card," Aunt Martha said, pointing to a small cardboard square tucked under the bow.

"I see it," Uncle Jon said, in the same tone one normally reserves for saying things like 'yes, I see the disgusting sheep-guts sprayed all over my overalls.'

"Did you check the card?" she asked hopefully, worrying the tip of her thumb with her teeth.

Uncle Jon's voice was like a deadly crack of thunder-- "I know who its from."

"It could be a coincidence," Martha said, using her 'oh-please-clark-don't-fight-with-your-father' voice. "It could be--"

"I know who its from." Louder this time. Martha nodded like she agreed, but was being optimistic out of sheer force of will. Both adults eyed the truck nervously.

"Okay," Kon said, coming to stand infront of them and block their view of The Truck. He already had it capitalized in his mind. "You guys are seriously freaking me out here. What the hell is going on!?" They both looked at him, the way they sometimes did when he pushed at his glasses or shuffled his feet. The way they did when he exhibited Clark's mannerisms. Only... there was something else there, too. Neither one of them chastised him for his language.

"I'm calling Clark," Uncle Jon declared, spinning on his heel. Aunt Martha stopped him before he could actually take a step towards the house.

"He just finished with that business in Peru, dear," she reminded him. "He looked so tired on the news last night-- it's early, and we haven't even checked the card..."

"Martha," Jonathan said, in that disturbing way that long-married couples had. It communicated whole paragraphs of meaning, indecipherable to anyone outside the pair.

Kon, feeling extremely out of the loop, pinched the bridge of his nose and wished fervently for Tim. Tim could handle weirdness-- he was good at it. He was practically the weirdness police. He could win awards for being totally unmoved by the most bizarre situations. Kon shook his head, waving his arm, again trying to capture his guardians' attention. Finally, they broke eye contact with one another to look at him, both with an odd expression that was more than a little unnerving. As always, Kon's brain responded to discomfort the only way it knew how-- it opened his mouth, and dropped out the first words on his tongue.

Lamely, he offered, "It's a nice truck."

"I'll call Clark," Martha said quickly, while Jonathan's face reached a part of the color spectrum Kon wasn't even sure there were words for. His aunt was halfway to the door when Uncle Jon started shouting.

"Again!" he said, waving his arms, "it's happening again! They never goaway! All damned over again!"

"I'm calling Clark," his aunt replied, having moved into her 'we-will-deal-with-this-crisis-calmly' tone of voice. Jonathan grunted in a way that was probably affirmative, and stalked off towards the barn, leaving Kon alone with The Truck.

Kon stared at The Truck.

The Truck sat there, inert and inanimate. It wasn't a crazed scientist, or an evil alien overlord, or a failed genetic experiment, or a hideous monster, so Kon really didn't know what to do. His aunt and uncle had raised one distressingly humanoid superpowered alien and were working on their second. They'd dealt with Heat Vision, X-Ray Vision, Super-Speed, Kryptonite poisoning, meteor showers, and Krytpo the Super Dog with amazing grace under fire.

They were unnerved by a truck.

With deliberate casualness, Kon hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and strolled over to The Truck. When it didn't attack him or attempt to eat him, he carefully plucked the note up and unfolded the surprisingly nice paper. The script was neat and elegant, if angular.

It read simply:

"C,

I'm going to assume he likes red, too. Let me know if your parents need anything. I remember your appetite; it's going to get expensive.

-L."

"Okay," Kon said, blinking in the full morning sunlight. "Now I'm really confused."


	2. In Which The Truck Is Frowned Out Direly

**The Red Truck Affair:**

A Disturbing Smallville/DC Mish-Mash (2/?)

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

CHAPTER TWO: In Which The Truck is Frowned At Direly

The passing of an hour found Kon the kitchen, scraping the remains of the broken pitcher into the wastebasket. Aunt Martha was washing the dishes left in the wake of Breakfast: Round Two, unusually silent as she went about her work. She looked up briefly as Kon put the dust pan away.

"Thank you, dear," she said, "I forgot all about that."

"No prob," Kon waved his hand, "though I'd really like it if you could explain--"

"Clark will be here soon," Martha told him patiently. The dishes clinked and water splashed. After a moment, she added, "He's bringing Batman." Kon took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, just to give his hands something to do. His first thought was relief-- if Batman was coming, chances were good that Robin was also coming. Just having Tim around soothed Kon's nerves in ways he was in no hurry to examine. His second thought, however, swept away any relief what-so-ever.

Batman was coming.

To look at a truck.

Either things were really serious, or Batman was going to be extremely pissed.

"Okay," he said, simply because his aunt was looking at him expectantly. He shifted from foot to foot restlessly-- his chores were done, and everyone in the Kent household seemed determined to avoid the truck, and thus the front drive, altogether. "Do you need any help?" he asked, looking significantly at the dishes. He'd spent months on his own in Hawaii, taking care of himself, and it felt odd for him to let Martha do so much for him now. Although he'd be the first to admit her cooking was worlds better than his.

"You're a good boy, Kon," she replied, patting his cheek in a way that made the teenager feel simultaneously warm and utterly mortified. "You remind me so much of Clark." There seemed to be something else on her mind, but she turned back to the dishes with a small sigh. A loud crack echoed from out behind the barn, and she shook her head. Uncle Jon was outside chopping wood in a manner more suited to R-rated horror movies than to everyday farm chores. Kon flinched.

"Is he... gonna be okay?" he asked slowly, peering through the kitchen wall and the vague outlines of the barn with his X-Ray vision. Uncle Jon had amassed a large pile of finished wood in a short amount of time, and gave no indication of slowing down.

"He's just letting off some steam," Martha assured him in a bright, cheery tone that completely missed its mark. Kon was about to say something else, when a little prickle rose along the back of his neck. He looked through the roof and into the blue morning sky-- sure enough, there was a small red dot approaching.

"Clark's almost here," he told Martha, waiting for her nod before heading down the hall and out to the back porch.

Superman was on the ground when he got there, hair and cape looking as unruffled as ever. Robin was climbing down from his shoulders, and Batman stood off to the side in that stiff way that clearly telegraphed he resented being carried all this way. Superman made little to no sound when he landed, most of the time, but he never seemed surprised when Kon came out to meet him without being called. Kon always figured it was some Kryptonian thing-- either that, or he was just weird. Which, considering his origins, was a significant possibility. Robin hailed Kon with a wave, and they exchanged a high-five that turned into a somewhat prolonged handclasp.

"Hey, man," Kon greeted.

"Hey," said Robin, expertly dodging Kon's attempt at a noogie. The shorter boy then delivered an talented elbow maneuver that would have left a mortal doubled over in pain. To Kon, it merely tickled. They smiled sharply at each other. "So, what's going on? Superman was unusually close-mouthed on the way over."

Kon shrugged his shoulders, ushering Robin towards the front drive. Superman and Batman were already there, arms crossed, frowning direly at the truck. Looking up, Superman smiled a brief greeting to Kon, but quickly went right back to what the young man had always thought of as his 'now-stop-this-lawlessness-at-once' pose. Batman's face-- what could be seen of it-- was unreadable, but that was no different than any other day. There were times Kon was certain the Dark Knight had only three facial expressions, tops.

"It's a truck," Robin said flatly.

"Yup," Kon replied, trying to wrap his brain around the oddity of Batman and Superman standing in the Kent's dooryard in the middle of broad daylight. He quickly gave up.

Robin leaned a little closer, "Is it an alien truck?"

"No."

"A shape-shifting creature pretending to be a truck?"

"I don't think so."

"Secret government technology disguised as a truck?"

Kon shook his head, "Doesn't seem to be."

"Robin," Batman said, and Kon's friend shrugged, hurrying over to his mentor's side. Robin's red tunic and green armored leggings were very formfitting, and yet somehow he managed to produce a scanner seemingly from out of no where. Black and yellow cape rustling in the light breeze, Robin scanned the truck, while Batman popped the hood so he could frown disapprovingly at the truck's insides as well. Superman, meanwhile, was staring at the vehicle intently, with an expression that clearly told Kon he was X-Raying it. Briefly Kon frowned, hoping he didn't adopt a similar look when he used his own powers-- Superman looked a little constipated.

"No traces of explosives, Kryptonite dust, or any other suspicious elements," Robin reported dutifully. "She's clean."

"There's no obvious tampering here," Batman said, closing the hood.

"I don't see anything, either," Superman sighed, biting his lower lip. He looked very young when he did that.

"It's a truck," Robin said, echoing Kon's thoughts exactly. "What's the big deal?"

"That's what I'd like the know!" Kon let out, more than a little agitation bleeding into his voice. "It's nine in the morning, there's a brand new, extremely cool truck in my driveway, and everyone's acting like it's Roswell, or something! And, dudes!" Kon looked disbelievingly at his watch for a second time, "No one expected me to go to school today! I got off school for this!" Which, of course, was perfectly fine with Kon, who loathed Smallville High in ways usually reserved for galactic murderers, but both Clark and the Kents were very insistent on his attendance. Kon had found that any arguments revolving around the fact he hadn't been around to attend grades K-8 didn't help his cause. It only made everyone uncomfortable.

"Did anything else come with the truck?" Superman asked, squeezing Kon's shoulder in a manner that was probably supposed to be reassuring. "Dad mentioned a note."

"Yeah," Kon said, fishing in the back pocket of his jeans. He handed the creamy, heavyweight paper over to Superman, who handled it as gingerly as one would a snapping, spitting Tree Devil from Rylos 5.

"I can't believe you were so careless," Batman told Kon. "That could well have been laced with Kryptonite dust." Kon rolled his eyes and looked at Robin in askance.

"You're not supposed to disturb the chain of evidence, Kon," Robin said apologetically. Behind Batman's back, however, he gave Kon a look that-- even through the mask-- clearly said he thought his own mentor was going a little overboard this time.

Carefully, Superman unfolded the paper. His eyes scanned across it once, then twice, and then again. He let out a small, quick bark of laughter that he muffled with his hand. Batman confiscated the note to read for himself.

"I think he's finally lost it," Superman said when the other hero finished.

"What do you mean, 'finally lost it'?" Batman asked. "He's never had it-- he's insane. He always has been insane, he always will be insane. He spent time in an institution, for god's sake." Kon watched in a sort of confused fascination as Superman's normally open expression shuttered, and the Kryptionian shot his fellow warrior a angry, warning look.

"That's not fair," Superman said quietly, "and you know it."

The muscle in Batman's jaw twitched. "This is your problem, you still stick up for him, even after..." He waved a black gauntlet in Kon's general direction.

"He does have a point, son," Jonathan Kent's voice rang quietly in the yard. Kon turned around-- he'd been so wrapped up in the odd exchange before him that he hadn't even heard his Aunt and Uncle approaching from behind.

"I don't want to talk about this, Dad," Superman said, briefly looking all of about fifteen years old. "I never should have listened to you in the first place-- if I'd just gone in and brought him out..."

"Out of Belle Reve?" Uncle Jon's voice hit an odd pitch. "And done what, son?"

"Ran," Superman said sadly. "When Edge came, I should have just picked him up and ran. It's all my fault."

Jonathan's expression darkened, "For God's sake, Clark--"

"Boys, please--" Martha said, shooting a worried look at Kon.

"You know you can't trust him," Uncle Jon went on seamlessly, "You never could trust him, and now he's fishing around for Kon--"

"Lex probably thinks its a joke, Dad," Superman's voice seemed very tired. "He's just twisting the knife a little. He's always had a weird sense of humor and..."

"WAIT," Kon fairly shouted, holding up both hands. For the first time, he found he had actually gained everyone's attention, and he didn't bother to hide his irritation. "Back up a second, here." He met Superman's gaze head-on. "The truck is from Lex Luthor?"

The was a long pause. "Yes."

"Lex Luthor!?" Kon cried in disbelief. "LEX FREAKIN' LUTHOR?"

"Shhhh!" his aunt and uncle said insistently, as if saying the name could summon the man.

"The note was addressed to 'C'," Robin said. His voice was close to Kon's ear, and soothing. The young man had no idea when exactly his friend had come to his side, but he was glad of it.

"It was sent to the Kent's house," Kon finished the thought. He looked at Superman with a growing sense of terror and plummeting unease. Quietly-- so quietly, "He knows who you are?"

"Yes," Superman did not look away, but nor did his gaze seem to actually focus on Kon.

"Since when?"

The hero rolled his shoulders-- it was a Clark mannerism on Superman's body. "Since always."

"What do you mean, 'always'?" Kon couldn't even name the emotion in his own voice. "If he knows, why aren't your parents in, like, Timbuktu, or on the moon-- someplace safe? Why doesn't the whole world know?" Robin's hand was on Kon's arm, grip so tight as to be punishing on a human. As it was, Kon was just thankful he could feel it.

"Lex wouldn't do that," Superman replied, with the same assurance one uses when stating that the sky is blue.

"He's your enemy!" Kon exploded, aware that he himself sounded all of five. "You said he was your enemy! You said! You fight all the time! He's tried to kill you! Why wouldn't he take advantage, if he knew?"

Superman looked pained, "We are enemies."

"This is a mess," Batman said flatly.

"Thanks so much, Bruce," Superman said nastily. He took a step towards Kon, expression pleading. "There's a lot you don't understand, it's complicated--"

"How is it complicated?" Kon asked, eyes wild. "How is," he moved his hands to illustrate, "good guys here, bad guys there, complicated? What is going ON?"

"Kon," Superman's expression was wholly Clark, naked in a way Kon was not prepared to handle.

"No-- no." He shook his head. For a moment, he stood frozen in the middle of the front yard, muscles tensed and torn. Then, he went with his instincts.

He picked Robin up and ran.


	3. In Which KonEl Absconds With Robin

_**The Red Truck Affair:**_

_**A Disturbing Smallville/DC Mish-Mash (3/?)**_

_by Meredith Bronwen Mallory_

CHAPTER THREE: In Which Kon Absconds With Batman's Sidekick

Bart Allen-- better known as Impulse, the very boy who'd once read the entire contents of both the San Francisco and Central City Public Libraries in the same day-- had once asked Kon if he had any memories of consciousness during the actual cloning process. Wally's next door neighbor was pregnant and had recently begun to show, which sparked Bart's interests in anything regarding human development and pregnancy, particularly unusual ones. There were few people on the planet who had birth-origins more unusual than Kon's. Bart had rushed into the common room at the Tower with a stack of textbooks almost as tall as his own willowy frame, and began plying Kon with questions so fast that the words began to run together. Kon still had nightmares in which Bart chased him around the planet, shouting about 'womb-memories', 'emotional versus intellectual maturity' and 'love deprivation experiments'. The hybrid teenager tried to be understanding about the whole thing-- after all, Bart had been raised in a virtual reality simulation for the majority of his life, and that was a very good excuse for not having the best people skills. Kon himself, while he tried to watch and take his cue from others, was aware he could socially be like a bull in a china shop at times. That sort of thing happened when you were poured out of a tube looking fifteen, and spent the first months of your life living off your fame and bumming around in Hawaii.

So Kon totally understood that Bart was just curious, and that a lot of his questions had less to do with Kon's origins and more to do with the fact his own parents had sent him through the time-space continuum to be raised by-- of all people-- Wally West. Still, he was more than a little relieved (and oddly flattered) when Tim stomped into the room, discovered Bart's chosen topic of conversation, and proceeded to rip the speedy young man a new one. Tim had gone on about team solidarity and respecting other's boundaries-- not to mention minding one's own business-- until Bart had sped off for Mexico to pout and eat an inordinate amount of tacos. He reappeared at the Tower the next morning, looking sheepish and carrying a small, buxom doll whose hips wiggled like a metronome when you but her on your dashboard. He gave the doll to Kon, and the two played Final Super Death Tournament XXI on Cyborg's X-Box. Within an hour everything was okay again.

But Kon still thought about it, sometimes. He'd lay in bed, and Bart's questions would come back to him, piling on top of one another until they seemed to reach the ceiling. Wide awake under the quilt Aunt Martha made for him, Kon would close his eyes and try hard, really hard, to see what he could remember. He thought he remembered being small enough to be held in two large hands, and being lowered into a liquid that at first seemed cold but then became the whole world. Sometimes, he had dreams filled by a gray-blue color, and he thought he heard someone's voice off in the distance, talking to him. There was never anything concrete, only a feeling of being expected, anticipated. Mostly, however, Kon was unable to think of Cadmus Labs without thinking of the person who'd contributed the other half of his DNA, so he kept the whole thing locked firmly in the back of his mind. Otherwise, he'd think about it all the time, and he really didn't want Tim to have to come and visit him in Arkham. That would just be embarrassing, all around.

Now, Kon ran, so fast everything else slowed to a crawl-- the storm he passed through, the river he sped along. Though the upper part of his face was covered by the mask, Robin wisely kept his head buried against Kon's shoulder. Kon listened carefully for the sonic boom that would signify Clark coming after him-- when a few minutes passed without one, he simply stopped. He'd had no destination in mind, only a desire to flee. He found himself standing in a large field comprised of browning yellow grass. There was a road some ways away, and a sparse wood on the other edge of the field. He started to ask Robin where he thought they were, but quickly swallowed the words. It took him a few moments to realize that he was holding his friend the same way a child would a large blanket or overstuffed teddy bear. 'Coolness factor' completely dented, he quickly set Robin down.

"Sorry," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Not a problem." Robin looked at him, cape and tunic perfectly unmussed, and didn't seem at all put out. "This way, I don't have to come looking for you. Also, if you'd dragged me here on the other end of a grapple, then I would have been pissed."

"You were going to grapple me?" Kon raised an eyebrow.

Robin shrugged, "If I had to." He wandered off towards the edge of the woods, Kon trailing behind him. Using a fallen tree as a bench, they sat together in companionable silence for several minutes.

"I really hate this," Kon said at last. "Like, everytime I think I've finally got a handle on all the utter weirdness that is my life, bam!" He smacked his fist against his hand, "Something comes right out of left field and it's all 'oh, no, Kon's an even bigger freak than before'."

"Kon," said Robin patiently, "you are not a freak."

"Oh yes I am!" Kon nodded vigorously. "I practically lived off that fact 'til Superman found me. I'm a big, unending freak, and my tongue is shaped funny."

With a sigh, Robin removed a small spray can from his utility belt and applied it to his mask-- the armored disguise came off easily, leaving Tim's face blinking up at Kon. "You tongue is shaped funny?" Tim asked, giving Kon the same look he had when the other boy had shown up in Gotham, flying around with a metal box on his head.

"It's kind of pointy," Kon stuck it out to illustrate, "I was looking in the mirror one day and I realized it didn't look right."

Tim paused. "I think you have too much free time in Smallville."

"... prob'ly."

"You're not a freak, Kon," Tim said again, after a moment. He held up a hand to forestall his friend's next words. "You're also not a clone." The shorter boy frowned, almost talking to himself, "I really hate it when people call you that-- a clone is a genetic copy. You're no one's copy, your DNA is unique. It's just as if any two guys who weren't Lex Luthor and Clark Kent decided they wanted to have a baby and..." Tim looked up at Kon swiftly. "...and..."

"Oh, shit," Kon swore fervently. "This is so weird! It's like I'm in the Twilight Zone! Any minute now, Rod Serling and his creepy eyebrows are gonna pop out from behind one of those trees to start going on about how I'm going on a journey not only of sight and sound, but of mind!" He buried his head in his hands, "Luthor knows who Clark is. Has for a long time..." Kon looked at Tim pleadingly, "This sounds crazy, but what if... what if..."

"He did it on purpose?" Tim asked quietly. "Combined his DNA with Clark's, not going for a clone or a stabilized half-Kryptonian, but a... child... that was..."

"I can't handle this," Kon announced decisively, hysteria creeping into his voice. "It was weird enough to think of them as my donors, but if I have to think of them as my parents..." Both young men descended into a somewhat horrified silence.

"Batman and Nightwing are sleeping together," Tim announced suddenly.

Kon started, feeling as if he'd just walked off a cartoon cliff. "What?"

"I said--"

"I heard what you said, Tim!" Kon waved his arms. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. "What the hell!?"

"I was trying to make you feel better," Tim confessed. "You know, not so weird about parents, and stuff."

"How is thinking of Batman and Nightwing..." Kon grimaced, "doing that in any way comforting? How is that helpful in any way, shape, or form?"

"My mentor and surrogate brother have been doing it right under my nose for, like, ever. I was just trying to say, you know, that a weird family-life kind of comes with the superhero territory." Tim touched Kon's hand, "Sorry. I really didn't think that through."

"Tim," Kon scoffed, "you think everything through. Like, a million times."

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, "It sounded good in my head."

Though he considered Tim his best friend, Kon-El regarded the other boy's brain in the same ginger, half-awed manner he used with nuclear devices, ancient mystical artifacts, and alien technology. Tim's brain was-- as Bart once put it-- "a really freaky thing"; you didn't get to be Batman's partner by being just another pretty face, after all. Now, Kon squashed the involuntary urge to scoot away, just a little. Tim licked his lips, the tiniest flash of white showing as he bit his lower lip. To the hybrid teen, who spent more time watching Tim than he'd readily admit, this was a sure sign of Plotting. Unlike almost everyone else Kon knew, Robin didn't think-- he Pondered, he Calculated, and he occasionally Plotted, but the processes of his cool intellect seemed miles away from mere 'thinking'. The first Robin had been hailed as charming, empathetic, talented, and practically immune to gravity, but Tim was a different sort of Boy Wonder. No less talented, Kon was sure, even if the areas differed slightly. It was just that Kon had seen Tim work along side Batman for over twelve hours, with neither of them exchanging a word in any way unrelated to the Mission. How Tim managed to walk around as a passably normal civilian was a total mystery to Kon, though he'd seen the other boy do it. It occured to him that, in another life, Tim would have made a very good Evil Mad Scientist-- a thought he quickly locked away, for fear of damaging his own brain even further.

"I have an idea," Tim said, having apparently examined every angle, possible outcome, and variable involved in whatever plan he was formulating. "It's a little... less-than-kosher, though." Kon raised his eyebrows. Tim was a Good Guy, which did not necessarily preclude occasionally breaking the rules, or doing something their more adult mentors would call 'stupid'. Tim just usually refrained from doing these things unless he was reasonably sure he wouldn't get caught, or would at least emerge with his dignity intact.

"I'm game," Kon replied. "I want to know what's going on. I'm never gonna get a straight answer from Clark."

"At least he responds when you ask a question," the other boy joked. "If Batman doesn't want to tell you something, it's pretty much all--"

"Grr-stoney-silence-creature-of-the-night?" Kon offered.

"Yeah." Tim chuckled, running a hand through his blue-black hair. "Let's find a road sign or something. Once we know where we are, you can take me back to Gotham, and we can start a little investigation of our own."

The two boys walked along the simple, two-lane road for a few minutes, neither in enough of a hurry to use superpowers or gadgetry. For a while, Kon watched Tim's face, but could divine nothing from it. As this wasn't unusual, he didn't allow himself to worry-- he just appreciated being in the presence of someone who wouldn't get uncomfortable or totally freaked out at the oddest moments. He liked the Kents, and Clark was his... well, his something... but there were times when Kon still very much felt like an outsider.

"Kon," Tim said, tugging a little on the taller boy's sleeve. "Kon."

"What?"

Tim pointed to the road sign they had walked up to while Kon was lost in his thoughts. Kon looked at the sign-- he looked a moment longer, and then turned his head to the side, as if that would make the foreign words on the sign suddenly fall together and make sense.

"It's French," Kon said. "Dudes, I did not run to France. There's an ocean-- I totally would have noticed an ocean." Tim's silence held an unusual note to it, and Kon turned, only to find that the boy was chuckling silently.

"Oh, Kon," Tim said, gasping for air, "you took us to Quebec!"

"Ah," said Kon.

"Why," Tim laughed a little harder, "Quebec? Of all places! There's San Francisco, and Florida, and New York, and the Tower... Quebec, Kon?"

"Hey, leave me alone!" Kon said, crossing his arms, "I was distraught." Playfully annoyed, he picked his friend up easily. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Nope."

"Well," Kon grinned mischievously, shifting Tim so that he was holding the other boy in what Cassie called the 'princess carry'. "Let go, honey."

As they were moving at terrific speeds, Tim merely leaned up a little and whispered, "I'll get you for that one, Superboy."


End file.
